Tristan’s father walked away from the cluster of noblemen, managing to carry himself in a stately manner despite his bulk. His eyes were puffy and red, but when he stopped in front of me, I saw that his cheeks were dry.

He cleared his throat. “There is nothing to say other than I would kill you a thousand times for what you have done, were it possible.” I said nothing. “Because of you,” the King continued, “the house de Montigny is ended. We’ve ruled Trollus for nearly fourteen hundred years, and it is finished. Because of you!”

Anger rose up inside me. He cared nothing for Tristan his son, only for Tristan the heir. His dismay was not for the loss of his child, but for the loss of power and glory. I rose up to my full height and glared at the King. “If that’s all you care about, then it’s a good thing you have two heirs!”

“Roland isn’t Tristan!” the King screamed at me.

“Kill her!” someone from the crowd shouted.

“She’s a traitor!” It was the half-bloods who screamed this – accusing me not of treason against the king and crown, but against their leader and their cause.

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

A grime-coated miner spat in my direction. “Liar,” he screamed. “Traitor! You killed him!”

My cheeks burned with fury. “Tristan isn’t dead…” The word froze on my lips as a searing pain tore through me. I fell to my knees, retching, and heard the crowd moan, but it barely registered through the agony. It was as if my heart had been torn from my chest and all the rest of my body burned from its absence. I screamed and screamed, and then the pain fled. I was empty. There was nothing.

“He is now,” the King whispered. “His death is written across you.”

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t speak. All I knew was that I could not live like this, with half of me missing. Raising my head, I stared up at the burning circle of light high above. The lone beam of sunlight that shone into Trollus. Then I leaned forward and lay my head in the guillotine, closed my eyes, and waited.

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Life and emotion filled the void, the shock of its return nearly as great as its loss. My eyes snapped open. “Tristan,” I gasped.

The guillotine clicked and the blade fell.

Chapter 28

Cécile

“Wait!”

A sharp sting burned at the base of my neck, but all did not go black, as I had expected. For a long moment, I was certain that my severed head had decided to live on for a few extra torturous seconds; but it soon became clear that my neck was still in one piece. I could feel the razor sharp edge of the guillotine cutting into my flesh and the hot trickle of blood running down my shoulder. Something had stopped the blade just in time.